


space-hooking for beginners

by novaberry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space, Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unsafe Sex, season 1!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 23:05:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novaberry/pseuds/novaberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for swing_set13's awesome Derek/Stiles prompt:</p><p>They're in space! SPACE! And Scott and Stiles have a cargo ship that breaks down and they are at a shady space port and have no money. Stiles or Scott comes up with the brilliant plan to hook themselves for the cash. Except they've never done this before, cue creep space pirates being all, hey pretty boy and Derek steps in but still wants Stiles' services. Maybe it was Scott set to do the hooking but then Stiles has to be the one to seal the deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	space-hooking for beginners

Admittedly, it was Stiles' idea to take a short cut--setting a course that took them through The Drag, a shady corridor of planets that law-abiding citizens usually avoided at all cost--but if Scott had done _his_ job, Stiles is 97% sure they wouldn't have ended up landing on one of the red zone's planets.  
  
"All you had to do was make sure we had enough gas to get from point A to point B!" He jabs a finger at the red, blinking dot in the far right corner of the screen and then punches Scott in the arm, just one more time.  
  
"Ow!" Scott clutches his shoulder. "I said I was sorry! I thought that other blinky thing was the fuel meter!"  
  
"Well, it's not! And now we're in freakin'..." Stiles squints at the map display. "Oh, my God! We're in Devil's Elbow."  
  
"So? We'll just get some gas and get _out_ of Devil's Elbow. Don't know why you're freaking out--"  
  
Stiles grabs Scott by the collar, shaking him. "Didn't you see that documentary?" He mimics the narrator's dark, creepy tone."'In Devil's Elbow, the currency is _human flesh_ '."  
  
"What? Like, we have to cut off one of our toes for gas?"  
  
"No, like we have to peddle our sweet, virgin _asses_!"  
  
**  
  
Stiles feels like a jerk about it, but they decide that the best person for the job is Scott. He's a) not a complete virgin and b) way more fit than Stiles (abs of steel and all that), so he should be able to get them enough fuel to get to Arun and back home.  
  
"Ready?" Stiles asks, hand hovering over the button that will open the cargo bay door. He's afraid they've attracted a crowd, landing in the spaceport without providing an authorization code. He tried telling the controller that he didn't have a code because this was a pleasure visit, but apparently no one comes to Devil's Elbow for holiday. What a shocker.  
  
What Stiles absolutely doesn't want is tip someone off to the fact that he and Scott are a couple of naive kids from Windemere, who (sort of) stole a light cargo ship to visit hot girls a couple of planets over. He just has a feeling that won't go over well in a place like Devil's Elbow.  
  
"I guess," Scott says, looking a little nauseous.

Stiles claps him on the back and hits the button, wishing he'd also borrowed his dad's gun. He and Scott hold their breath when the door _shooshes_ open and...nothing happens. The boys share a confused look before cautiously venturing forth. They hesitate again at the foot of the ramp, but no one glances twice at Stiles, Scott or their ship.  
  
Turns out no one gives a shit about a couple of kids in a bustling spaceport. Stiles heaves a relieved sigh.  
  
"Okay, let's see if we can even find a fueling station. Maybe that documentary was full of crap, ya know? We need to do some research before rushing into anything. I mean, worst case scenario, we _do_ have to find some lady who'd pay for your sweet ass--we need to know what to charge, right?"  
  
"Oh God, this is so gross."  
  
"Hey, come on! Maybe we'll find a hot lady who..."  
  
"A hot lady who has to pay for sex?" Scott finishes, glaring at him. "I'm sure!"  
  
**  
  
The landing zone is bright, but the light, the sounds and especially the smells all change as Stiles and Scott leave the main floor. No sign of a fueling station yet, which seems strange, so now they're just trying to find someone who might be willing to help them figure out what to do next.  
  
"Stiles, check it out!" Scott slams a hand into Stiles' chest, stopping him short and pointing across the passageway, where there's a door marked CANTINA. Stiles assumes that all the other characters on the door translate to the same thing.  
  
"Oh, cool!"  
  
**  
  
The cantina's dim and a little smelly, but not very crowded, so Scott and Stiles easily walk up to the bar and take a seat. The bartender turns around and does a double-take when he sees them.  
  
"Uh, hi!" Stiles says brightly, waving in what he's sure is a universally friendly manner.  
  
Swarthy bartender dude slams his hands on the bar and leans toward them, expression thunderous.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
"Whoah, guy!" Stiles rears back, hands raised. "Do we know you?" The guy actually does look familiar. In that way super-attractive people sometimes do. The dude keeps glaring and Stiles is suddenly hit with it. "Oh shit, we _do_ know you!" He hits Scott excitedly. "It's Derek Hale! The guy who murdered Kate Argent!"  
  
Scott gapes at him and Derek grabs him by the collar, hauling him halfway across the bar, hissing, "Shut up!"  
  
"S-sorry!" Stiles' voice cracks and he closes his eyes, _this close_ to hyperventilating. "Oh my God, please don't kill me."  
  
"I'm not a murderer, you idiot! Now calm down and stay quiet, and you might get out of here in one piece. Besides, it's not me you need to worry about."  
  
Stiles opens his eyes, forgetting to be terrified for a second. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You boys just walked into a cantina in Devil's Elbow, all sparkly-clean, in your Windemere prep clothes, and what? You don't know that half the people in this bar are thinking about how good you'd taste or how easily your baby-soft skin would break if they took a knife to it, while the other half are wondering how much they'd get if they ransomed you back to your stupid parents?"  
  
Derek releases him with a disgusted little shove and Stiles nearly topples off his stool. Scott catches his arm and they both look around, and shit. The bar's not full, but the patrons--older, weathered men and women--are all wearing some sort of weapon(s) and side-eying Scott and Stiles, if not staring outright.  
  
"Hoo-kay! Looks like we should be going! Uh, thanks--"  
  
Derek grabs Stiles wrist, yanking at him again, voice low when he says, "You walk out of here now and I guarantee you won't make it back to your ship."  
  
**  
  
They sit on their stools and try to blend in with the dark wood of the bar, waiting for Derek to get off and escort them back to their ship. Stiles doesn't know how the world managed to turn quite so completely upside down, but his gut is telling him to trust the devil he knows.  
  
Derek's refilling Scott's soda when he asks, "So really, what the hell are you guys doing here?"  
  
"We were going to Arun, but ran out of gas."  
  
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Derek looks between them, like maybe he's reconsidering the offer to help. Stiles shrugs and Derek goes on. "All right, so why didn't you fuel up and take off? How'd you end up in my cantina?"  
  
"We were looking for a station, but if they don't take creds--"  
  
"You know they don't."  
  
Stiles looks at Derek blankly because he really has no idea what goes for currency around here. He hasn't seen anyone paying Derek in lap-dances or blow jobs. It looks like they're using a white key card-type thing.  
  
Derek's expression shifts from incredulous to angry, again, and he ducks in. "They take lira, just like _we_ take lira. Oh fuck, Stiles. If you guys don't have lira--"  
  
"You'll be paying for your food and drink the old-fashioned way."  
  
Derek jerks upright and, even in the dim lighting, Stiles sees him blanch. Stiles turns and finds a wiry, neat gentleman who must be his dad's age standing at his side. The guy looks nothing like the rest of the patrons and maybe that's what makes Stiles' stomach dip in terror, well, that or the way he's looking at Stiles. Like...like he's just so pleased that Stiles may have to pay "the old-fashioned way."  
  
"Uncle Peter, it's fine. We were just speaking-uh--"  
  
"H-hypothetically!" Stiles blurts, eager to help Derek help them. "I love running scenarios that would never happen, just discussing potential, theoretical outcomes."  
  
Peter smiles at him. "That's cute, but it's a little late for you boys to be out. Derek, time to close their tab."  
  
A long moment ticks by where no one moves and then Scott and Stiles, who often need no words to communicate, jump up and make a run for the exit. They pull up short, Scott gripping Stiles' arm, stopping a few feet from the men who've moved to block their way.  
  
**  
  
Apparently lira are points one accumulates either by directly performing sexual favors for government officials or by selling another person, who performs sexual favors in their name. The points are kept in a database, a bank of sorts, and each person's account is debited by the white key card Stiles saw earlier.  
  
Stiles isn't sure which one of them looks more grossed-out when Derek's uncle finishes explaining the local currency, but it's Scott who speaks up.  
  
"That is sick! How can you people live this way?"  
  
"This is what we know." Peter answers with a shrug, shedding the faux-politeness. He turns to the men and women who circled the boys. "You have two choices. You service me as payment for what you've had here or you service one of our lovely patrons, who would in turn pay for your tab."  
  
Stiles thinks he may pass out. This is so not how he'd planned to lose his virginity. Scott grips his shoulder, grounding him.  
  
"Can--can I, uh, provide services for both of us?"  
  
Peter's mouth twitches unhappily, but he nods. "If you wish to do this for your friend, you may."  
  
"Wait!" Derek speaks up. "They're just tourists. They didn't know any better. I'll pay their tab."  
  
Peter sighs. "Fine, nephew, but you know the law."  
  
Derek runs a hand through his hair. "Can't we make an exception, just once?"  
  
Peter looks pointedly at the people around them and Stiles thinks things may have gone differently if they didn't have so many witnesses.  
  
"All right." Derek moves in and reaches for Stiles, who's heart nearly thunks out of his chest.  
  
"Uh-uh!" Peter steps between Derek and Stiles, nodding at Scott. "The other boy's volunteered to do it."  
  
Derek falters and Stiles feels so bad. He feels bad for Derek and Scott, though he has no idea why Derek would care which of them "services" him. Why Derek wants to help at all.  
  
"No," Stiles says, voice cracking. He takes a deep breath. "I'll, uh. I'll do it for both of us."  
  
**  
  
Derek pushes him to the wall, shielding Stiles with his body. Stiles fists his shirt and looks at him helplessly.  
  
"Oh God, I d-didn't know we had to do it in front of them," he whispers, panicked anew.  
  
"Shhh." Derek cups his face with big, warm hands, and leans in to brush his mouth over Stiles'. Stiles gasps and Derek hushes him. "It's okay. I've got you, m'gonna take care of you."  
  
"How--"  
  
Derek shuts him up with a real kiss. His first kiss. Stiles thinks it should be awful, considering the circumstances, but Derek is so careful. He moves one hand to the back of Stiles' head, cradling him, and the other to his throat, like he's feeling Stiles' pulse flutter as he pushes his tongue into Stiles' shocked-stupid mouth.  
  
Stiles whimpers and grabs Derek's shoulders, kneading at the thick muscle there as Derek suckles Stiles' tongue, works a strong thigh between Stiles' legs. Stiles forgets they have an audience, spreading his knees and clinging to Derek as Derek shoves up, until Stiles is all but riding his thigh.  
  
It should probably be awful, but it's _so_ not awful. Stiles didn't even know a guy could do it for him, but maybe, maybe he'd get hard for anyone who touched him like this. Stiles' brain quickly supplies him with the image/thought/feel of Peter touching him, kissing him, and his stomach churns unpleasantly. He forces himself to focus on Derek, Derek's smell, Derek's amazing body all up on his, and is pleased when his gut twists again in a good-hot-weird way.  
  
Derek breaks the kiss and tugs his leg free, making Stiles moan and reach for him. Derek catches Stiles' wrists and pushes his stubble-rough cheek to Stiles', whispering, "Shit. Sorry, I got carried away--"  
  
"Derek," Stiles whines, turning to try and catch Derek's mouth.  
  
"No, shhhh. Listen to me. I'll take care of you later, I promise, but right now you have to get me off. That's how it works and I'm sorry, but," he pauses, cupping Stiles' face, making Stiles meet his eyes. "I have to come _in_ you."  
  
Derek lets Stiles decide how to do it, keeps his hands gentle on Stiles as Stiles drops to his knees, shakily tugs Derek's pants open. Derek's cock bounces free--thick and dark, the fat head already sticky with pre-come--and Stiles is hit with the pungent, dusky smell of him. Stiles goes hot all over, mouth flooding as he takes Derek in hand.  
  
"That's good, Stiles," Derek's voice is soft and low, just for Stiles. He pets Stiles' shorn head, touches Stiles flushed cheeks as Stiles lifts his cock, closes his trembling mouth over the tip. "Oh God, look at you. Shit--"  
  
Derek chokes when Stiles curiously tongues at his slit, catching another thick blurt of pre-come. It's overwhelming, tasting someone, breathing them in--Stiles didn't know sex could catch you up so completely. He fists the silky-soft skin of Derek's shaft, feels Derek pulse against his palm as he trails his fingers over Derek's sac, cups his balls.  
  
" _Stiles._ " Derek sounds wrecked, like this is amazing for him, too, not just some ordeal he has to get through to save Stiles and Scott. "C-can you take more?"  
  
Stiles frowns and drops his jaw, flattening his tongue as he sinks forward, barely resisting the urge to gag as Derek fills his mouth. He breathes hard through his nose, dropping a hand to his own dick, whining around Derek as he palms himself. Derek groans and hitches his hips, like he can't help but try to get deeper. It's too much, Stiles chokes, pulling off with a cough, wiping at his spit-soaked chin.  
  
"Sorry!" Derek strokes his shoulders until Stiles can breathe again. "So sorry, I'll be better. More careful this time."  
  
Stiles nods and pats Derek's hip, not trusting his voice. He straightens up and opens his mouth.  
  
 _"Fuck,_ Stiles," Derek hisses, accepting the invitation to guide his dick past Stiles' lips. "You grew up s-so damn pretty. Always-unghh--always thought you were a cute kid, but, _ungh_!"  
  
Stiles reacts to Derek's shocking words by inadvertantly humming around his mouthful. He clutches Derek's toned ass and works to relax his throat, take another inch of Derek, and then he tries swallowing. Derek keens, his grip going hard on Stiles as his whole body tenses--that's all the warning Stiles gets before he's choking on Derek's spunk.  
  
**  
  
Derek fastens his pants and Stiles clings to Derek's hips, hiding his come-streaked face as Derek kicks everyone but Scott out of the cantina.  
  
"It's okay, Stiles. They're gone."  
  
Stiles sags back against the wall and Derek drops to his knees, pulls Stiles into a hug, kisses his sweaty forehead, licks at the mess on his face.  
  
"Scott?" Stiles asks faintly, dizzy from the way Derek's gentle manhandling has made his dick throb. He's ready to _burst_.  
  
"Here, but _not looking_. So yeah, do whatever you gotta do, man."  
  
Stiles finally opens his eyes to find Derek looking at him strangely, almost warily.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Phhht. It's not your fault we're idiots." Stiles pats Derek's beardy cheek and then grabs his wrist, shoving his hand between Stiles' legs. "But if your guilty conscience gets me a handjob, I'm cool with it. Then, I dunno, I guess I'm gonna have to service you again 'cause we still have to pay for gas."

  


**Author's Note:**

> Just archiving this PWP from a couple of years back.


End file.
